


it's too cold for you here

by bucktrungle



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: M/M, and heath is in love with legault but isn't aware of it, in which legault is hopelessly in love with heath but doesn't want to admit it, post fe7 watn aka legault chases that wyvern ass all the way to ilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucktrungle/pseuds/bucktrungle
Summary: Someone of his calibre could easily have settled for any old mercenary guild and have called it a day. Yet here he found himself in some snowed in shithole in Ilia, of all places. The fact that he had travelled all the way to this one specific Ilian mercenary base, had absolutelynothingto do with the rumours he had heard—tales of a fierce warrior with long green hair, who cuts down any evildoer that his golden eyes set sight on. This “fierce warrior” just so happening to be his favourite person to tease, was merely a coincidence.
Relationships: Heath/Legault (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	it's too cold for you here

Someone of his calibre could easily have settled for any old mercenary guild and have called it a day. Yet here he found himself in some snowed in shithole in Ilia, of all places. The fact that he had travelled all the way to this one specific Ilian mercenary base, had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the rumours he had heard—tales of a fierce warrior with long green hair, who cuts down any evildoer that his golden eyes set sight on. This “fierce warrior” just so happening to be his favourite person to tease, was merely a coincidence.

After hours of ploughing through the thick layer of snow, with the wind mercilessly beating against his skin, Legault finally allows his weary body to rest in the barracks of the mercenary base he had managed to sneak into with relative ease. Despite it being quite a bit of a fort with its sturdy walls, most of its members seem to still be out and about at this hour, which had certainly facilitated his job. He had huddled himself all the way in the darkest corner of the room with his cloak—still speckled with the occasional fresh snowflake—covering most of his face. Hearing the mighty snowstorm howl outside makes him shiver all over again, despite the building itself being well-isolated. He was glad to have at least escaped the dreadful storm for the night. He’s has had about enough of the awful weather in this region—he was definitely not made for it, that much he had learned over the past few weeks. Although, he’d be lying if he denied that the candlelit wooden interior that was protecting him from the storm outside, made him feel a bit cosy.

At the moment, the barracks are empty, but Legault knows that with the day coming to an end, it won’t be too long before this place fills up. Despite the roaring of the wind outside, he has no problem detecting the undistinguishable sound of approaching footsteps.

As the doors to the barracks swing open, Legault observes the stream of fatigued-looking, yet ever so lively mercenaries flowing in, the old wooden floor creaking under their stomping feet, and their loud voices quickly filling up the space. Large, older men, mostly. Brutish types. No doubt looking to fill themselves up with ale for the night. _About as stereotypical as the image of an Ilian mercenary gets_ , Legault notes to himself.

Legault keeps his eyes peeled as the last of the men pour into the barracks. As the stream comes to an end, there is one man in the back who stands out. He is visibly younger and slimmer than the rest of them, and most notably, his green hair with the stupid white streak sticks out like a sore thumb. _Nice way for someone with a massive bounty on his head to hide himself, Heath_ , Legault thinks to himself, and he has to refrain from shaking his head.

Despite his demeanour immediately giving away that it’s him, Legault knows the man before him well enough to notice how much he has changed over the past few years. For starters, he’s wearing much lighter armour as a mercenary than he would as a wyvern rider. Additionally, his current getup seems to be well-adjusted to Ilian temperatures, with his clothes being lined with wool, and what seems to be a winter cloak under his arm. His protective equipment seems to consist mostly of leather materials, accentuating his muscular form more than his steel armour would, and Legault definitely can’t complain about that part. Nor can he about the ponytail that the young man has tied behind his head, undoubtedly to keep the untamed mess he calls his hair out of his face during combat.

But more so than his physical appearance, Legault notices the forlorn expression on Heath’s face. That part, he doesn’t like. At all.

Their eyes meet. Perhaps it was a coincidence and Heath just happened to look in his general direction, or perhaps he could sense the cloaked figure in the murky corner that had been intensely staring at him for the past few minutes.

Heath blinks at him from afar with a shocked look on his face, as if he’s a child witnessing an apparition in the corner of his bedroom.

After a few seconds, Heath’s expression betrays that he’s recognised him, despite Legault’s cloak covering most of his face in the unlit corner. _Impressive_ , Legault admits, and he maintains the strong eye contact, as if beckoning the other man.

The green-haired man looks around the room hastily, as if to scan it for any other ghosts from his past. Then, without further hesitation, he strides his way over to Legault’s isolated corner.

Despite his calm exterior, Legault cannot control his stomach dropping—in both a good _and_ a bad way—as the other man marches over with what seems to be the confidence of a hardened general.

“What are you doing here?!” Heath hisses at him, slightly under his breath as to not make too much of a fuss in this public setting, though the mercenaries seem too occupied with more important things to care about the two of them, anyway. The words came out as if Heath had just caught Legault breaking into his house, and he supposes that in a way, he has.

“Nice to see you again too, after all these years” Legault replies optimistically, and he flashes a sickeningly sweet smile at the man in front of him. He knew fully well that Heath was going to react this way, but the implication that he doesn’t want to see him here still stings a bit, he’ll admit. He maintains his forced smile regardless, as he rises from his seat to approach his former comrade. “Just thought I’d make some quick coin as a sell sword. What a coincidence I would run into you, huh?” Legault attempts, despite already knowing that Heath won’t buy it.

“That’s not what’s going on here, and you know it,” Heath replies, clearly frustrated. He turns around to gather his equipment, presumably to take his leave.

“Hey, woah, hold up,” Legault mumbles as he realises that the man he’s spent searching for longer than he’s ever willing to admit, is promptly leaving him behind without any further notice. _Not letting you go that easily. Not again_.

As Legault starts to pursue him, Heath sighs. “Don’t follow me,” he says without looking back at him, and his former irritated tone has shifted to a much softer one. It is reminiscent of the melancholic expression Heath wore earlier, and Legault is reminded of why he came here.

“Heath, wait. I’ve come to warn you,” he says, this time urgently, with a hint of a plea to it. _I don’t care if you hate me. You must hear me out._

Upon hearing the tonal shift in his voice, Legault swears he could see Heath shoulders tremble for a second. The two of them have reached the entrance of the room, where Heath stops in his tracks. 

“Consider me warned,” Heath answers after a brief moment of silence, and he leaves the barracks.

For a second, Legault shoots a helpless look towards one of the younger looking mercenaries that stuck around at the entrance, as if to ask him “what now?”.

“Don’t bother with that guy, he’s a bit of lone wolf,” the lad tells him, waving his hand dismissively towards the door that Heath left through.

“You can say that again,” another, older looking man joins in as he slaps his comrade on the back of the head, followed by an “ouch” by the latter. “He’s made quite a reputation for himself, that guy. On the battlefield, he can’t be beat. But back at the base? Never stays for a drink or anything,” he continues. “Usually goes off to his room as soon as we return from the mission,” he says, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Figures,” Legault replies dryly. _So the rumours were somewhat accurate_ , he concludes. 

From what little information he was able to gather from Heath’s intoxicated colleagues, Heath is known for two things around these parts: he’s an incredible warrior and a complete loner. _And_ , he continues his inner contemplation, _he’s got a single room_ , as a questionable thought goes through his mind. _Questionable, but highly practical_ , he reconsiders.

Legault nods at the two men, whose attention span is apparently much too short for them to even have noticed, before leaving through the same door that Heath had left through.

As he climbs the staircase to what he presumes to be the sleeping quarters, Legault ponders about what the two men had said about Heath. Hell, _anyone_ with eyes could have seen that Heath was uncomfortable in this group. Not that the mercenaries themselves seemed like bad people—in fact, he himself knows better than anyone that there’s far worse types to deal with than simple sell swords. But not Heath. Despite what his rugged looks would suggest, Heath was a knight, through and through. During the war, Legault had witnessed first-hand how Heath had fit in perfectly within the Lycian army—how it had given him a purpose, a place that he could call home, even if only temporarily. And the fact that he ultimately had to give that up, the fact that may never find that _ever again_ , leaves a damn bitter taste in Legault’s mouth. He could only hope that Heath had found a companion in one of those mercenaries, or at the very least, in his wyvern.

After reaching the sleeping quarters and being slightly impressed by the size of the old base, all there is left to do is find Heath’s room, which would be a cakewalk for him—he would simply have to find the one room that was occupied. 

As he silently slides through the dark, abandoned corridors, he wonders if this really is the right thing to do after Heath had clearly communicated _not_ to follow him. _No, he simply must know_ , the voice inside his head keeps reassuring him. He’ll take the chance that said voice is the angel on his shoulder whispering to him, and not the devil. Besides, not even someone like Heath could sleep through the commotion that was going on downstairs, Legault had convinced himself.

Finally having silenced all his doubts, Legault finds himself before the room that he knows has to be Heath’s, as he can see a faint light glowing from under the door.

Legault breathes in and knocks on the door.

“Go away, Legault,” Heath replies promptly, his voice monotone.

“I wasn’t joking around, y’know. When I said I came to warn you,” Legault says, repeating his sincere tone from before, to clearly communicate to the other man that his intentions are genuine.

“Tell me through the door, then.”

“I can’t risk that,” Legault says honestly.

Silence. For at least a minute or two, if Legault’s counting abilities are reliable enough.

A deep, long sigh. “I’m never getting rid of you, am I,” Heath eventually lets out, a tad dramatically, from the other side of the door. It sounds more like he’s confessing it to himself than to Legault per se. “Fine, come in then.”

“Thank you,” Legault sings, and he pushes the door open like it wasn’t locked just a moment ago.

“After I deliberately went out of my way too lock it, too,” the voice inside the room mumbles.

“You forget who you’re dealing with,” Legault replies smugly, as he holds both his hands up, wiggling his nimble fingers.

“Right,” Heath admits. “Thief.”

“In the past, maybe. These days, I only steal hearts,” Legault can’t help but respond playfully, the cheap smile returning to his face.

Heath grumbles, visibly regretting letting him in, and Legault allow himself to wallow in his former comrade’s disdain for a bit. He’s missed this.

Upon entering the cramped room, Legault turns his attention to Heath, who’s sitting on a bed that’s planted against the northern wall. He’s slightly slumped over, with his forearms resting on his thighs. The dimly lit candle on the nightstand next to the bed is barely enough to illuminate Heath’s face, but it’s bright enough for Legault to see that he’s wearing that sad expression again. His hair is down too. It’s quite a bit longer than he remembers and for a second there, Legault indulges himself with the thought that perhaps he grew it out because he felt inspired by a certain someone. Quickly glancing over the rest of the bedroom, he notices a small window on the wall that cannot serve its purpose, as it’s completely covered by snow. _Overall, a rather depressing scene_ , Legault concludes.

Legault closes the door and remains standing against the wall nearest to it, and Heath doesn’t wait a second after he’s done so. “Out with it,” he demands.

“I’ve heard tales…” Legault starts, but pauses briefly before choosing his next words. “Tales in Etrurian city plazas, about a fearsome warrior who resides in the frosty peaks of Ilia… a green-haired tyrant, who slays any man before his golden eyes,” he says, as if narrating the introduction to a puppet play. 

Heath’s eyes shoot daggers at him, as he’s clearly not appreciating Legault’s attitude right now. Legault clears his throat. “They say he’s a fugitive from Bern… any man who can hand him in will surely be rewarded handsomely!” he continues in the same mocking tone anyway.

“I take it you’ve come to collect my bounty, then?” Heath says cynically, and Legault is surprised that he’s entertaining him, rather than scolding him. 

“Had that been my intention, dear, you would not be drawing breath right now,” Legault replies calmly, an arrogant smile plastered on his face.

Heath scoffs. “I don’t doubt that,” he says, his head now resting in his right hand. Legault decides to take his words as a compliment. 

“Behold, the green-haired tyrant of Ilia, sulking in his room,” Legault announces, and he does a little pose like he’s presenting an undefeated gladiator to a non-existent arena crowd.

Heath sighs for what must certainly be the fiftieth time this evening. “Those tales are merely the ramblings of bards, Legault,” he then states. “Pay them no mind.” He mumbles something under his breath about not being a tyrant, as well.

“You say that, yet I’ve seen wanted posters throughout the entire continent, with my own two eyes. Your face amongst them,” Legault states, this time with a hint of concern to his voice. “Sounds like Bern wants you dead, rather than alive.”

“Is that so… And how about your own face, Hurricane?” Heath retaliates.

Legault laughs rigorously. _Ever ready with the witty backtalk_. He adores that about Heath. “I’ll have you know that they could never get my handsome mug right if they tried, so it’s barely a concern.”

Heath falls quiet for a bit, before speaking again. “So you’re still on the run, too,” he concludes.

The mood seems to have shifted for the worse, as both men let the gravity of the situation sink in. Legault decides to take advantage of the mood shift. “You’re not safe here anymore, Heath,” he tells Heath earnestly.

“You’ve come all the way from Lycia to tell me something I’ve known from the moment I became a deserter,” Heath says as he stares blankly ahead, and it sounds like he’s posing a question, and answering it at the same time.

To that statement, Legault simply has no reply. He instead allows the room to succumb to nothing but the sound of the wind howling outside, and the distant noise of rowdy mercenaries screaming drunk banter at one another. He uses the opportunity to pace around the room a bit, and eventually settles down in the small wooden chair that’s opposite of the bed. He does not face Heath, instead looking down at his boots, which could certainly use a good cleaning after the abuse he’s put them through lately.

“Why did you _really_ come here, Legault?” Heath asks all of a sudden, and unlike before, his voice sounds completely void of any emotion.

Legault is rudely awoken from his brief spacing out session. He puts on a smile before looking up to meet Heath’s eyes. The reflection of the candlelight truly does make them look golden. _At least the rumours got that part right_ , Legault thinks to himself.

“Because I worry about you,” he answers obediently. _Because I care about you._

“Then tell me where.” Heath’s voice has regained emotion, but it’s not irritated or angry-sounding even—he sounds completely and utterly lost, and Legault can feel a pit form in his stomach.

Legault observes the bewildered look on his old friend’s face as it stares into the nothingness. If Heath’s expression is a puzzle for him to solve, he cannot do it.

“Tell me where fugitives like us _can_ be safe,” Heath continues, now finally meeting Legault’s gaze.

Before Legault can even begin to process his words, Heath has already moved on to his next. “And don’t go thinking that—,” he stands up from his seat and hesitates to finish his sentence for a second, “—that you’re some kind of saviour who can rescue me from all this, when you’re in the exact same position as me!”

Legault’s eyes widen as Heath’s raised voice catches him off guard. He had never hear that sound come out of him before, but Legault can tell that his words were raw, and he seems relieved to have said them. 

Realising that he got a bit too heated, Heath collects himself and sits down on the bed again. “Face it, Legault. There _is_ no safe place in the world for fugitives like us,” he finally adds in a defeated tone, his head bowed down.

Leaning back on the dinky old chair as it creaks under his weight, Legault puts his arms behind his head and looks up at the ceiling to process the feelings the other man had just poured out in front of him. _Me… rescue you? Man, you’ve got it all backwards._ Legault snickers to himself, and shakes his head.

“Then, what will you do?” is the question Legault eventually settles on after collecting his thoughts, and he turns to faces the man in front of him once more.

Heath simply stares back at him blankly.

“Will you stay here? Live your days as a famed mercenary for the rest of your life? A shell of a human who cuts down anything in front of him for some coin?” He instantly regrets saying that last line, but it had escaped his lips without him having any say in it. It came from a dark place within himself, Legault can tell, and he scolds himself for it.

“You realise how rich this sounds, coming from you?” Heath answers agitatedly, and Legault finds his sentiment to be completely valid.

Legault hates this—he made the mistake of letting his emotions interfere with his words, and it’s stirring the conversation southwards. He must think more carefully before speaking.

“Forget someone like me, who is defined by his past—I’m talking about you, Heath. Even now, you still uphold your values as a knight. I know you do.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve murdered countless,” Heath says, facing the ground. His voice sounds empty.

“Even innocents? Villagers? Women and children?”

“ _Never._ ” Heath immediately jerks his head back up to face Legault, and almost spits the word at him, seemingly offended by even the suggestion of it. “No amount of gold could make me stoop to that level,” he adds confidently.

 _My level?_ Legault thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he shoots a meaningful look at Heath. 

“What about me? Would you cut me down, were I on your enemy’s side?”

Once again, Legault is caught off guard by his own words. It’s like something within him is taking control of the conversation, and he doesn’t like it one bit. He has no idea where it came from—except that’s a lie and he knows exactly where it came from. It’s a place within himself that he’s spent years suppressing. Faces of old friends flash before him—faces he’s loved, faces he’s killed. They all blur together. Yet again, he reprimands himself for letting long forgotten memories get the better of him at a time like this.

Observing Legault’s inner turmoil with a questioning look on his face, Heath exhales sharply. “You’d cut me down before I’d get the chance to,” he decides.

Legault laughs sheepishly. “Perhaps. But when it comes down to it, a knight like you would crush me,” and as he says it, he is briefly reminded of a similar conversation he’s had about this very topic, though the memory is too vague for him to place it.

“You always say that, but I’ve seen you fight. I don’t take you lightly,” Heath replies matter-of-factly, and at those words, Legault feels a weird sense of pride swell up in his chest. The kind he thought was long gone, and he is reminded of a time where he could share that pride with people he’d once called his family. Bittersweet as it may be, somehow it does him good to hear his reputation is still around in some circles, even _if_ it’s likely for the wrong reasons, and his skills are nowhere near what they used to be. 

_Amazing_ ¸ Legault suddenly thinks to himself, as he realises what’s happening. He takes the time to observe the weary young man before him. This one man had managed to strip down all of his walls without any effort at all, just by existing in the same space as him. He despised it, and couldn’t get enough of it, all at the same time.

“Whelp, there’s no way around it. You truly are a knight, Heath,” Legault eventually concludes, and he didn’t miss the split second in which Heath’s eyes lit up at his words.

“Say what you will, I can never be a true knight again,” Heath immediately reminds himself, and Legault can tell it’s not the first time he’s convinced himself of that.

“Fine, be a mercenary for the rest of your days, then. See how those fellows downstairs will react once they find out the foreign guy’s got a bounty of ten thousand gold on him,” Legault replies indifferently.

Heath does not react to his petty comment.

“Are you trying to get killed? Is that it?” Legault asks after a brief silence. He has to ask it, even if he knows he really shouldn’t.

Heath widens his eyes, but he does not look at him.

Ignoring the signal, Legault continues even if he knows damn well that he’s crossed a line. “You know, if you’re planning on dying anyway, you really could have picked a better place than Ilia. Why, you could’ve just asked _me_ back in Lycia, I’d have—,”

“Stop that,” Heath interrupts, and his voice is stern and urgent. Legault takes the hint. He can tell that he’s officially overstayed his welcome, and wishes that he could punish that stupid mouth of his for letting things even get this far to begin with.

Recognising the discomfort he’s put Heath in, Legault decides that it’s probably for the better to distance himself. He rises up from the wooden chair that’s been torturing his rear all this time, and paces around the room as he moves closer to the door, not wanting to take his leave quite yet. Having reached the small window on the northern wall, he taps the glass. The snow is stuck to it like cement. Looks like it’s not getting warmer around here anytime soon. 

Searching for any old excuse to stick around for just a little while longer, Legault’s attention is brought to the weapon stand in the corner next to the door, which has a singular, unused lance resting on it, as well as some other old equipment, undoubtedly from Heath’s wyvern rider days. He figures that the lance is not the weapon of choice for mercenaries in this area.

 _This is it, huh_ , Legault finally accepts as he faces the door, having run out of stalling time. He glances back at Heath one last time, who hasn’t moved at all. He seems lost in thought.

“What you said earlier—,” Heath interrupts suddenly.

Legault turns his head towards him to signal him to continue his thought.

“You’re not… defined by your past. You have done a lot of good things.” Heath looks up to him as he says those words. His expression is genuine, but with a hint of sadness.

Legault can’t for the life of him figure out what prompted Heath to say that, but he thanks the gods for it regardless. He can’t remember what exactly he had said during the flurry of words earlier, but he appreciates the thought more than Heath will ever know.

At a loss for words at the sudden notion, he simply nods at Heath and hopes the small gesture somehow conveys his true feelings. “The same goes for you,” Legault decides to add, and it comes out rather meekly. If anything, he is glad that the conversation seems to have ended on a high note, Legault thinks to himself as he reaches for the doorknob.

Before Legault can leave however, he hears Heath softly call out his name. The sound is almost haunting, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. He responds to the call by turning around to face his old friend once more.

“Do you think… people like us can start anew?” Heath asks, and it sounds hopeful, almost.

Legault simply blinks repeatedly in response, having to do a doubletake or two to process what exactly the other man is implying here. It’s a sincere question, but one Legault simply has no answer to—hell, it’s a question he’d like to know the answer to _himself_.

“We can _try_ ,” Legault eventually suggests.

In an instant, Heath stands up from the bed and paces over to him. It’s the second time he’s done it tonight, but the way the young man carries himself is so poised, that Legault can’t help but be a bit terrified (and admittedly, a little excited as well).

Once he stands before him, Heath looks at him like he’s bracing himself to ask something risky, and the determined expression fits him very well, Legault notes.

“Are you suggesting we escape?” Legault asks, deciding to take the burden off the other man, and he immediately regrets it as part of him would have liked to hear Heath say it.

Visibly surprised, Heath simply opens his mouth to let some air escape, but other than that, nothing comes out.

“You’d include little old me in your escapade? Is that what you’re trying to say?” Legault asks with a grin, but in truth he is still quite taken aback by Heath’s bold suggestion, and wants to confirm that he understands what he’s is getting at.

“Even if I were to go alone, I have a feeling you’d come find me again no matter _where_ I run off to,” Heath eventually states after a brief quiet moment, and despite the implication behind his words, the tone of his voice is neutral, with not a single hint of accusation to it.

Though slightly disappointed in the image Heath apparently has of him, Legault can’t deny that he would do exactly that. “Two fugitives on the run, with nothing to lose…,” he fantasises out loud. “Sounds kind of exciting if you think about it,” he finally admits, a smirk forming on his face at the interesting thought.

“I think we have a deal,” Legault then concludes, and he extends his hand towards the man in front of him.

Heath mutters something in protest of the “exciting” part, but reaches out to give Legault a firm handshake nonetheless.

Legault trots over to the bed to place himself on it. “Hmmm, I wonder where fate will take us,” he exclaims in theatrical fashion, and Heath shoots him a quick glare that tells him he doesn’t like his seat being taken.

“As far away from Bern as possible, hopefully,” Heath replies duly.

“Who knows, perhaps we will even find you a house to serve,” Legault says optimistically.

“Wishful thinking. I cannot serve as a knight in this state,” he reminds himself once more.

“You never know,” Legault sings cheerfully. “Until then, you may serve Lord Legault,” he teases, and he bows to Heath as if he were a noble greeting another.

“Lord Legault can’t afford my service,” Heath replies stoically.

“Ouch,” Legault says, unable to hide the fact that the remark hurt a bit. “I can definitely tell you’ve been around mercenaries for too long,” he fires back. “So much for knightly values,” he adds under his breath.

Heath chuckles somewhat uncharacteristically at their meaningless banter, and it’s a rare treat—the best one Legault has had in a long while.

A moment of quiet falls between them once again, as both men have said their parts and collect their thoughts. Legault is glad that he is able to enjoy a simple peaceful moment, now that the air has been cleared.

Heath is the one to break the silence. “I think I’ll leave tomorrow at dawn,” he says, as he starts packing his equipment. “Whether you join in, is up to you. ”

“I’ll go anywhere if it’s away from this weather,” Legault replies. _Or anywhere you are_ , he adds in his mind.

“Right. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then,” Heath says, very clearly signalling him to leave in his own charming way.

 _Uh oh_. Legault, still sitting on the bed, simply gives Heath a sheepish look.

Heath, clearly not catching on, stares back at him, and then at the door. _Thanks Heath, I get the hint_ , Legault thinks to himself. 

“Do you not have a room?” Heath asks. 

Legault clenches his teeth. “You didn’t actually think I got in through legal means, right?”

Heath’s facial expression changes from confused to slightly suspicious. “Right... Sleep on the floor, then,” he decides, nodding towards the old wooden floor.

Legault gives him a disappointed look. “Heath, with all due respect, I’m pretty sure I’ll freeze to death.”

Heath sighs. “Fine, you take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says plainly.

Legault can’t deny that he’s slightly unsatisfied with the fact that Heath had dodged his envisioned outcome so masterfully. “ _Orrr…_ ,” Legault tries.

“I’m not joining you in bed,” Heath cuts him off, already tired of the scene that’s playing out.

“I’ll be so cold and lonely…,” Legault exclaims melodramatically, embracing his own torso as if he’s reuniting with an invisible long-lost lover.

“Freeze, then,” Heath says completely deadpan, and that one wounded him more than any of his previous insults combined. 

Legault gasps, places a hand over his heart and falls back on the bed, as if shot by an arrow. 

Completely ignoring the spiel before him, Heath promptly plants himself on the ground to get settled for the night.

Harsh as they may be, Heath’s insults would’ve hurt more had Legault not missed them so much. Lying on his back, Legault closes his eyes as the fatigue of his long journey starts to catch up with his weary body. He sighs as if unsatisfied, but admits that he could have done worse than this. 

* * *

Heath is rudely awoken by something sharp poking his back. Just as he had finally dozed off, too. Throughout his years, he had been able to sleep pretty soundly in all different types of environments and through all kinds of noises, but after being used to sleeping in a soft bed for all this time, admittedly it was difficult to return to the uninviting cold, hard floor as bedding.

He can’t help letting out a frustrated groan.

“What? Can’t sleep on a creaky old wooden floor that has splinters sticking out of it, huh? Who would’ve thought,” an annoying voice to his left pesters him.

Heath grumbles again. He had hoped that his movements wouldn’t wake Legault, but _of course_ it woke him—the former assassin had always had the sharpest hearing around. He looks up to meet an irritating grimace to match the voice.

“I’m a light sleeper,” Legault explains, seemingly reading his mind. He has propped himself up on his elbows to face Heath.

Heath sits up to pick the sizeable splinter from his back, grunting as he does so. He decides to stretch his back and arms while he’s at it. It’s not that sleepless nights are anything new, but for once he wished that he could just let his tired mind and body rest already.

Legault, having picked up on Heath’s restlessness, wastes no time—he pats the empty space next to him on the bed. “Come on up, I’ve got room for one more”. He smiles at him, and it seems like more of a considerate smile than the usual ill-intentioned smirk he wears, but Heath still doesn’t trust it for a second.

 _Absolutely not_ , is his first instinct, and although he would really love to protest some more, his body is _begging_ him to give it a rest already. Too exhausted to reject the open arms of a soft warm bed, or really anything over the cold, hard, and apparently very pointy floor, Heath obeys. Even _if_ it has a self-satisfied Legault on it. He’ll just ignore that last part.

Climbing up on the bed, he allows his tired eyes to focus on the visage before him, and for a second he swears that there’s a pretty lady in his bed, only to remember that, _right_ , Legault’s hair is, really, really long and he would obviously not be wearing his headband to bed. Heath has never seen him without it, though. 

“You look different,” he ends up blurting out in his sleep-deprived state, after staring for a bit.

“You’re one to talk,” Legault replies, and he grabs a lock of Heath’s hair without any warning, and twirls it around his finger. “You trying to catch up with me or something?” he asks mischievously. 

Heath freezes up at the sudden contact, and Legault seems to pick up on his awkward body language, as he withdraws his hand.

“I—,” Heath pauses nervously. “I haven’t bothered to cut it.”

“It’s not a bad look,” Legault hums.

The strange interaction having fully awoken him, Heath now realises that his face is very close to Legault’s, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. 

“I-I’ll be going to sleep now,” Heath stammers, in an attempt to end this dreadful scene as quickly as possible.

“Sure,” Legault simply replies, and he slides on his back again.

“Try anything funny and you die,” Heath mumbles into the mattress once he’s turned around, very deliberately facing away from the other man.

“Noted,” Legault murmurs towards the ceiling, and from the corner of his eye, Heath can see him lift up a hand as if surrendering to him. Legault then shifts to face the wall, thereby turning his back to him, and Heath wonders if he does so because of Heath’s words.

His heart still thumping rapidly in his chest, Heath tries to focus on anything other than the man lying next to him so he can calm down and finally get some sleep before the night is over. Outside, he can hear the snowstorm raging on as strongly as ever, violently beating against the wall as if trying to break in. It’s almost enough to drown out the sound of Legault’s soft, rhythmic breathing, but not quite.

Since his stay in Ilia, the wailing of the wind had become a sound of comfort to Heath, one that would lull him to sleep. But tonight, it acts more like an elegy rather than a lullaby, as Heath can’t help but feel concerned for Legault. He wonders if the roaring of the storm frightens him, if the cold bothers him. He knows how much he despises this type of weather. _The journey here must have been awful for him_ , he thinks to himself. And all of it had been just to “warn” him. In the end, despite Heath’s lecture about him not being able to save him from this life— _that’s exactly what you ended up doing, isn’t it?_

This stupid man, who from the moment he had met him, had somehow managed to look straight through him. This enigmatic man who came out of nowhere, and knows exactly what’s in his heart. 

_How bothersome_ , Heath thinks, and he presses his face into the pillow and drifts off to sleep.

* * *

Heath awakens to an unfamiliar floral fragrance. He inhales deeply, allowing the faintly sweet aroma to fill up his nostrils. It is a pleasant scent that might be a type of lavender, if Heath had to guess. Definitely not anything that can be found amongst the flora of this barren land.

His other senses slowly catching up with his sleep-drunk state, Heath realises that something is tickling his face.

Curiously, Heath opens his eyes to find violet hair pressed against his face, sprawled all over the pillow and sheets, and pouring over his chest like a waterfall.

“I’ll let it slide for now, but next time, buy me dinner first, would ya,” a deep voice grumbles, but as its corresponding face turns to meet Heath’s own, he can clearly see Legault’s stupid mug, and it’s covered with an ear-wide grin.

It is then, that Heath finally notices the position he’s in. He’s pressed up against Legault’s back, with his arms wrapped around the other man’s torso.

Heath feels his face heat up _much_ worse than before, shrieks, and jumps out of bed, all in what feels like a split-second.

“I’m _that_ repulsive, huh,” Legault sighs disappointedly. “And after _you_ had the nerve to threaten _me_ ,” he adds as he too leaves the bed, much more casually (and gracefully) than Heath had. Despite his complaints, Legault seems completely unbothered.

Heath just stands there as his mind races to compute what had just happened, since Legault’s dismissive attitude was not exactly helping much. He must have fallen asleep like that, but he _couldn’t_ have—in fact, he had _purposefully_ faced the other way to avoid a situation like this, so how—

“Relax, I don’t mind. I _did_ I tell you I’d get cold and lonely.” Heath’s internal rambling is put to rest by Legault’s voice, apparently recognising Heath’s state of complete panic. He shrugs and waves a hand at him. “And now I wasn’t!” he adds cheerfully, as if that validates Heath’s actions. It’s alarming how unaffected Legault is by all this.

Heath sighs. He can’t make anything of this, but at least it seems to have put _him_ in a good mood.

As the two gather their clothes and belongings to get dressed, a cold, bitter silence consumes the room, and it’s amplified by a thousand now that the storm has settled down. Heath’s mind searches for any logical explanations during the entire quite period.

“By the by, who is ‘Hyperion’? Anyone I would know?” Legault asks out of nowhere, and Heath can’t quite place the tone of his voice, nor gather a clue from the face he’s making as it’s covered by the undershirt he’s putting on. But somehow, he seems weirdly suspicious of him.

Heath gasps in complete disbelieve that Legault would _dare_ forget the name of his beloved wyvern. “Hyperion is the name of my wyvern!” he states proudly, having taken personal offense to this unforgivable crime.

“Right, I knew that,” Legault replies sheepishly, and he lets out a sigh that sounds filled with relief, oddly enough. Heath can tell he’s lying, though—Legault had never shown much interest in Heath’s mount. And the same was true the other way around—Hyperion had always been somewhat distrustful of him, and would be extra alert whenever the thief was around.

“Care to explain why you were calling out your wyvern’s name in your sleep, then?” Legault asks as a follow-up question. It sounds a bit hesitant, but his curiosity likely got the best of him.

Heath, flustered, gasps once more, as the puzzle pieces finally start to fit together.

“Hyperion, he would…,” he trails off, still gathering his thoughts. A bit embarrassed to admit what he’s about to say, Heath continues. “When we were travelling, he would always watch over me as I slept. He would curl his tail around me, and I would grab hold of it.” He can feel his face flush a bit, as if he had just confessed that he still sleeps with a stuffed animal.

Legault makes a confused face away from Heath, but Heath still catches a glimpse of it, and it makes him feel a bit anxious.

“You know what, I’m honoured you would consider me to be in the same category as your oversized lizard friend,” Legault eventually says, after having turned back to face Heath with a smile, and although Heath can tell he’s teasing him again, his voice has an honest ring to it as well.

“Y-yes,” Heath simply says towards the ground, having no idea how to respond.

A moment of quiet falls between them once more, as both men have finished up getting dressed and are now gathering some equipment. _At least this one is significantly less uncomfortable than the one from earlier_ , Heath thinks.

“Do you still ride that wyvern into battle?” Legault asks, breaking the silence.

Heath’s eyes widen a bit as memories of his past flash before his eyes. Memories of sky-high battles fought with his soldiers in arms, soaring on top of Hyperion’s back to scout for approaching enemies. Flying over mountains to rescue villagers, terrifying moments in which Hyperion had been shot down by arrows and Heath had thought that he would lose him forever.

“Actually, I…” Heath pauses as he can feel a lump form in his throat. “I released him.” 

Legault stops dead in his tracks and stares at Heath as if he’d just catch him in the midst of committing some heinous crime. “You did _WHAT_?!,” he exclaims, and it’s so unlike Legault that it makes Heath jump a little.

“It’s not a time of war right now. It would be unfair for him to remain in my service,” Heath explains as if it were a matter of fact, but his heart still feels a bit heavy speaking about it.

Legault’s surprised expression changes to a sympathetic one. “Can you… still see him?” he asks.

“Oh, yes. He resides in the mountain near this base. He… refused to go any farther.” Heath had hoped that Hyperion would have taken advantage of his power of flight, and had flown away as far as his wings could carry him. Yet he could not deny the part of himself that had felt extremely relieved when Hyperion had refused to leave his side. It had been difficult to find a place for the large creature to stay, and Heath felt a bit guilty that he could not provide a more fitting environment for his wyvern friend, but ultimately, he was just glad that Hyperion was still around.

“I go see him as often as I can,” Heath says, the corners of his mouth curling up into a faint smile.

“Heath, that’s…” Legault says, and he seems uncertain of what to say next. He clears his throat. “So essentially, he’s your… pet now? You have a pet… dragon,” Legault concludes, a pensive look on his face.

Heath likes to think of Hyperion more as a friend, but he doesn’t tell him that.

The two of them finally having finished packing everything for their journey, all there is left to do is sneak out quietly. Heath has left that part in the capable hands of Legault, with it being his expertise and all. 

Legault opens the door. “Follow me,” he says.

* * *

“I’m glad the storm has subsided. That should make things easier.”

“Easier maybe, but certainly not warmer,” Legault grumbles, and he pulls his cloak closer to his body.

Legault had started complaining about the weather the very second the two of them had set foot in the snow, and Heath had definitely questioned if he had made the right decision once or twice. Then again, he couldn’t deny that it felt good to wear his wyvern rider armour again, even if it felt much tighter than he remembers, and he had to get used to its weight.

As the two men approach the mountain that looms over the snow-covered fields, Heath puts two fingers to his mouth and whistles.

Heath immediately perks up at the distant wyvern screech responding to his call, and the sound of flapping wings approaches. He quickly unpacks the sizeable hunk of meat that Legault had “borrowed” from the guild’s storage room before they had left the base. Admittedly, Heath felt a bit guilty about it, but Hyperion had certainly deserved a treat for sticking around for so long, if only just this once.

As the mighty creature lands before Heath, snow flies up and covers his entire person. Heath chuckles. “Hey buddy!” he says excitedly, and he pats Hyperion’s head. “We got you a little treat!” The wyvern cries in delight as Heath throws down the giant lump of meat, and Hyperion starts gobbling it up eagerly.

Heath turns around to notice that Legault has taken some distance, and looks a bit pale at the sight of the scene before him. “Have you ridden before?” he asks the other man plainly.

Legault seems startled at the sudden question. He shakes his head. “Not a wyvern, anyway.”

Heath can tell from the malicious expression that’s forming on Legault’s face that he’s about to add something vile to his previous statement, and decides to quickly interrupt him before he has the chance to, not wanting to give Legault the gratification of irritating him. “Well, I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” he says, and he can see Legault gulp quietly.

Legault, finally moving in closer now that Hyperion has finished up his meal, lays a hand on the wyvern’s back leg and pats him awkwardly. “That’s so nice of you, Hyperion, to lends us a, er—wing,” he stammers, and he seems tense.

Hyperion growls and swipes his tail in response. Legault’s quick reflexes kick in, as he instinctively jumps back. Heath decides not to tell Legault that a wyvern’s tail has the strength to blow away an entire group of people with relative ease.

“He can sense fear, you know,” Heath says, noticing that Legault seems hesitant to approach the wyvern head-on. “Here.” Heath takes Legault’s hand, leads him to the front of the beast, and gently presses Legault’s hand against the scale-covered skin on Hyperion’s forehead. “He’ll trust you only if you trust _him_ ,” Heath explains. 

Hyperion exhales comfortably and closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. Heath can’t quite read Legault’s expression, but his lips are parted and he seems intrigued. The sight makes Heath feel glad.

After a short while of getting lost in the moment and neither of them saying anything, Heath realises that he’s been holding Legault’s hand in that position for a bit too long, and he rapidly jerks his own hand away. “Uh, we should get going,” he says, flustered.

Legault seems zoned out, his hand lingering on the wyvern’s scales, before withdrawing it as well. He then simply nods, and Heath is a bit frustrated that he can never tell _what_ goes on in that head of his. He admits to himself that he’s always been a little envious of Legault’s cool composure.

“Where will we go?” Legault asks.

“For now, wherever the wind takes us.” 

* * *

“You know, we’ve still got a few weeks to go until spring, but I hear the plains of Sacae are most lovely around that time of year.”

“I thought the plan was to move _away_ from Bern, not closer to it,” Heath duly notes, the mere thought of running into one of Bern’s infamous wyvern units sending a shiver down his spine. He’s leaning against Hyperion, who is resting peacefully.

“Sure, but what’s the harm in a little detour to do some sightseeing? Gods know we’ve earned it,” Legault says from his spot under the tree. He’s got his hands behind his back as he leans against it, a of fresh blade grass in his mouth. He must be glad to have encountered some green after all that time in the barren Ilian landscape, Heath thinks.

 _Sacae_ … They must find themselves somewhere around the border between it and Ilia if the vegetation was anything to go by. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious to see the vast green plains with his own two eyes, if only just once. Although he had found a pristine kind of beauty in Ilia’s winter landscape, he would certainly appreciate the change of scenery.

“If Bern’s army comes for us, I’m leaving you behind as bait,” Heath eventually decides.

Legault chuckles at his comment, and Heath can feel his chest tighten a bit. He looks up to face Heath and winks at him. “I’ll take those odds.”

**Author's Note:**

> HEY thanks for reading! I have no idea how any of this works but behold: baby’s first fanfiction. except not really;;; but this is the first one I’ve ever finished and published anyway lol. it’s far from perfect but I just wanted it. done
> 
> expect more fe stuff (aka obscure gay elibe ships that no one cares about, see case in point) from me in the future maybe hopefully? who knows
> 
> if my english was off blame it on my english as a second language having ass. also I am aware that I abuse em dashes, bls don’t bully;;;


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